


Again, The Devil Took Him

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Scared Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s stalking closer, and Dean knows that Alphas are predators, meant to intimidate their prey, and then glean their submission, but Dean’s heart is racing ferociously, and he can feel the scent of fear floating outward, the sorrow.</p><p>In which things are the same, but everything else has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again, The Devil Took Him

**Three years later**

Dean’s hands are rigid on the steering wheel as he sneaks a covert glance over at his brother.

Satisfied at finding him asleep, Dean unbends, body slumping against the leather. Dean can only breathe when Sam’s asleep, or otherwise unoccupied. Can’t scent Sam without the fervid desire to curl up into his brother, just fucking rest for a year.

To stop.

Dean’s been on heavy duty suppressants for three years now, went out and applied for a year’s subscription right after Sammy left him at the White Dove Motel a few years back.

His scent is a mere trickle, he knows now, smells like artificial chemicals and white cotton air freshener. Knows Sam snarls every time he gets a little too close to it, sends Dean a wan, apologetic look.

_Instinct. M’sorry._

They’ve gotten more efficient at avoiding that. Now.

Dean waited two weeks before he drove to Sam’s apartment in Palo Alto, the way he had attempted to do three weeks prior, before his biology waylaid his plans.

Could’ve called Sam but didn’t know what he would say. If he would even answer. So, he did what he does best. Broke in, scared Sam’s little Beta half to death, hinted, again, at what Sam already knew.

“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

_Old man’s missing Sam. You know that’s why I came in the first place._

“So, he’s working overtime on a Miller-time shift. He’ll stumble back in sooner or later.”

_I don’t give a fuck, Dean._

“Dad’s on a hunting trip...and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

_I’ll expose you. I’ll tell your little Beta all of your darkest secrets. But you’re gonna talk to me, damnit._

“Excuse us, Jess. We have to go outside.”

Dean flexes numb fingers around the wheel and flicks a habitual glance at his rearview mirror. His face sags in defeat as he remembers Sammy’s face after Jess had burned to a crisp on his bedroom ceiling. Sam’s soot-covered features and ashen breath.

Sammy, the brightest and best of them all, severe lines on his face, resignation in his voice. Alpha nudging at the corner of his words the way Dean understood it always would, now.

“We’ve got work to do.”

Dean spares Sammy’s sleeping form a wistful glance as he swerves the car gently into the Motel parking lot. He sits in the car idly, for a second, not thrilled with the prospect of waking Sam. Cracks his neck in the dead air and remembers that he doesn’t have to worry for much longer, doesn’t have to think about the fact that the love of Sam’s life is dead in the fires of hell, and the omega he claimed smells like chemicals and rejection.

Thinks, (almost fondly,) on the deal he’s made, the deal that’s keeping Sammy breathing shallow breaths right next to him.

Pleased that he’s only been given a year, and how much can he hurt Sammy further, given such a condensed time frame? No. He’s gonna go out with a bang, all style and flare. Dean shoves at Sam’s shoulder, wincing as his brother’s head smacks against the window.

“Jesus, Dean, how about you say my name before you hit me next time.” Dean laughs, puts his back into it, turns away from his brother. “Get up bitch. Check in time.” Dean can hear Sam grumbling as he half-heartedly unloads their bags from the car, shuffling in step behind Dean with his head down in exhaustion.

Dean slaps a hand on the counter in front of the clerk and grins, all teeth. “Two beds, please.” The man’s face wrinkles in confusion, can smell Sam’s Alpha, boy smells like a damn Christmas tree farm, but is probably thrown off by Dean’s distinct lack of scent.

Dean thinks he can smell the faintest hint of citrus in the air, but then it’s gone and he smiles, winningly, at the man, a Beta, again. “Any time tonight, would be nice. M’brother here’s about to pass out on your floor.”

The man scurries then, tossing Dean the keys and rattling off pleasantries as Dean ushers a brain-dead Sammy towards the room, pushing him gently down onto his bed. “Lift em up, kid,” he grunts, tugging at Sam’s tightly laced boots. Sammy, of course, is no help at all, batting ineffectually at Dean’s hands and flopping backwards onto his pillows.

Dean moves his boots neatly by his nightstand, knows Sammy won’t like the clutter when he wakes up. Dean slumps onto his own bed, stretching so that his spine pops painfully and he’s briefly considering crying out in distress.

“Dean?” He hears, sound low, but awake, and Dean turns slowly to face his brother’s voice. Sammy’s staring up at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head, hair fanned out in brown strands across the pillow. His long ass feet are still touching the floor, and Dean sniffs in response.

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“You think we’ll be able to do it?” Dean rubs at his eyes with his palms. “Do what, Sam? There’s a whole ton of shit we gotta do.” Sam levers himself into a sitting position, picking at his cuticles. “I don’t know, man. All of it? Closing the gate, figuring out how to get you out of this deal--” Dean stands up then, joints cracking precariously, and he wonders whether or not that demon added a few years on his age on top of all the other bullshit.

“I don’t know, Sam. But we’re gonna try, and whatever else happens, happens.” Dean drags socked feet over towards the bathroom. He grapples with his toothbrush before beginning to scrub, one hand braced against his sink. He can see Sammy stand, out of the corner of his eye and strip off several layers, leaving him in a grey t-shirt. He pushes a long hand in his hair and scratches at the stubble collecting on his cheeks.

“M’gonna figure this out Dean.” Sam pauses as he rolls down the comforter on his bed. “You’re not dying for me.” Dean gargles, leaves the light on for Sam as he flops onto his own bed. “Sometimes you gotta let things be, Sam.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, Dean.” Dean trembles, loathe as he is to admit it, at the Alpha timbre in Sam’s tone.

Dean quakes in place as he feels a droplet of slick descend and collect in his boxers. He holds his body rigidly. Prays as fervently as he knows how that somehow, Sammy won’t use that lethal Alpha sense of smell.

“Dean.”

That one word has Dean springing up, body pressed against his headboard, face resolutely looking anywhere but his brother. “Dean. Why does it smell like citrus.”

Sam’s stalking closer, and Dean knows that Alphas are predators, meant to intimidate their prey, and then glean their submission, but Dean’s heart is racing ferociously, and he can feel the scent of fear floating outward, the sorrow.

“M’in heat. Sam.” Louder, this second time. “Going into heat.”

He looks at his brother now, and Sam’s eyes are verging towards muted gold, and his veins are flexing on the arms he’s got tightly locked against his chest. “Why?” The one word is strangled, off-putting in the helpless, yet dominant way Sam’s said it.

“I don’t fucking know, Sam! I’ve been on sups since--for three years, never had a mix-up.” Dean cracks his knuckles. “Must’ve burned right through ‘em. Heat’s supposed to be next week. If I ever let it happen.”

Dean’s trying to think, quickly now, of how to get through this with the least amount of damage possible. Stands up, growing light headed in the process, ignores the damp feeling between his legs. He grabs at his duffel bag and drops to the floor, looking for where the hell he dropped his boots.

“You’re not leaving, Dean.” Dean hears this tiredly, and attempts to stand up so suddenly that his head smacks against the bottom of the bed frame. “The hell I ain’t! M’not letting you sit through that, not again, Sam.”

Dean works himself into a standing position, his head a buzz of pain, slick drenching the insides of his pants. He shudders in place, and the motion knocks him sideways into Sam, who has stepped beside him in order to block his escape route.

“Lie down, Dean. I can scent everything, right here.” He wraps a cool palm around Dean’s rapidly overheating neck and Dean’s body sags against his brother’s. “If you think, for a second, I’m about to let you out of this room smelling like that--” Sam breaks into a throaty chuckle and Dean has no idea why the sound is hardwired to his legs, because they buckle, just like that.

Sam hoists him up and immediately sets him back down on the bed, eyes a little melancholy. “You’re mine, Dean. Whether you want me or not, that’s how it’s always gonna be.” Sam pulls the blankets in around him, tangles his fingers in Dean’s dark blonde hair for an instant.

Dean’s not breathing, he’s so warm, and he kicks his jeans off under the covers, can feel how flushed he’s already becoming. Hates how this makes him into a debilitated, reliant mess, makes him crave Sam’s touch in every way possible.

Dean isn’t aware that he’s whimpering until Sammy’s face is right beside his, incisors in the process of extracting, brow scrunched in concern. “S’wrong? Dean, Dean baby, answer me.”

And God, he’s so _tired_.

“Will you just lay with me, Sammy?” Sam’s breath hitches audibly and he presses his knuckles onto Dean’s comforter.

“What.”

“Don’t make me say it again, Sam.” Dean stretches out his arms, face turned up to his brother’s, endeavoring to angle itself away from the light.

Listens to the very low growl exuding from Sam’s throat as he pushes the blankets aside and curls his long, lean body against Dean’s smaller form. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I clearly can't let them go. Please comment any thoughts, concerns or questions, they were actually really helpful last time!


End file.
